


You're A Hero

by Astralda0602



Series: Stydia One-Shots [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Episode: s03e06 Motel California, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Lydia Comforts Stiles, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Post-Episode: s03e06 Motel California, Reader Discretion is Advised, angst and a little bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26110237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astralda0602/pseuds/Astralda0602
Summary: After the traumatic night that they've all had at that cursed motel, Lydia finds Stiles crying alone, the weight of the events that had occurred just hours prior finally settling in.WARNING:The viewer discretion warning from the episode (3x06: Motel California) stands! In the opening scene of this fic we see Scott’s attempt at setting himself on fire, as well as some of Stiles’s self-depreciating thoughts and feeling of worthlessness.
Relationships: Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski
Series: Stydia One-Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895776
Kudos: 57





	You're A Hero

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've just rewatched this episode (3x06: Motel California), and I was having some Stydia feels, so I thought, why not write this little piece. I hope you enjoy it, even if it is a little sad. Stydia isn't supposed to be cannon in the time of the episode in question, but who cares, read it however you wish! I crammed in as much as I could in here, and I hope it's satisfactory. Enjoy!
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Teen Wolf or any of the characters, or any of the dialogue from the scene from the episode used in the opening of this fic! All rights go to their rightful owners.

The red light of the flare was all the redhead could see. In the dead of the night, in the darkness of the parking lot, it shone as brightly as the summer's sun. Only the sun cast warmth and comfort in its rays. The red light of the flare clutched tightly in the werewolf's hand had no warmth in it, no comfort. It was terrifying, blood-freezing. It was paralyzing. She desperately wanted to look away, but she could not.

Lydia's feet seemed to be moving on her own as she followed her two other friends towards the boy before them. They didn't seem as terrified as she was, not as paralyzed, despite the fact that they knew him much better than she did. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lydia wondered if it was exactly that fear that made them move. Maybe they didn't seem so terrified because the fear in their veins paralyzed them so much, they could not even tremble anymore. 

The three came to a stop before the gasoline-soaked werewolf, clutching that wretched red light. Lydia could not see Allison's face properly, but she could see dried tears on her cheeks. Glancing up at the boy beside her, she realized that he somehow seemed worse than Allison. He had no tears on his cheeks, but Lydia could see them in his eyes. But the expression she caught on his face was so much worse than the sight of tears. He looked absolutely terrified. His mouth was parted in shock, fear pooling in his big, usually bright eyes. Lydia felt her heart break at the sight. Someone as pure and good and bright as Stiles should never have to wear such an expression. 

But it was Scott's face that truly broke her. Tears flowed down his cheeks, mixing with the gasoline dripping off him. He was trembling, sobbing softly and quietly, a completely and utterly shattered look in his eyes as he held the lit up flare in his shaking hand. His voice was hollow when he spoke, breaking the hearts of all three teenagers before him. “There's no hope.”

Lydia remained quiet, slipping her hand into Stiles's in an attempt to comfort them both. She could see him shaking too now, and she knew the terror of seeing his best friend like that was carrying him away from the situation. She hoped to anchor him in any way, not just for his own sake, but for Scott's too. They'll need Stiles – Scott will need Stiles – if they want to get Scott back. If anyone can get him back, it's Stiles.

“What do you mean, Scott?” Allison spoke up, her voice shaking as much as her body did. “There's always hope.”

“Not for me... Not for Derek...” Scott whispered, the sound echoing in the dead silence of the night. It broke Lydia to see their strong, brave Scott like that. The pain on his face never belonged there.

“Derek wasn't your fault,” Allison attempted to reason, her voice breaking with a sob as she took a step forward, “You know Derek wasn't your fault.”

“Every time I try to fight back, it just gets worse. People keep getting hurt. People keep getting killed,” Scott continued as if he hadn't heard a word Allison had said.

“Scott, listen to me, okay?” Stiles stepped forward, letting go of Lydia's hand as he attempted to break through to his best friend. Lydia let him, keeping a mindful eye on his proximity to the gasoline on the ground. Just one wrong move, just one stray spark, and Scott goes up. “This isn't you, all right? This is someone inside your head, telling you to do this. Okay? Now—”

“What if it isn't?” Scott cut in, his voice breaking again. “What if it is just me?” he spoke, trembling more with each second, “What if doing this is actually the best thing I could do for everyone else?” Lydia couldn't understand how he could think that. Scott is the softest, most gentle being on the whole plant. Nothing that had happened was his fault. “It all started that night, the night I got bitten. You remember the way it was before that? You and me, we were... we were... we were nothing!” he spat out finally, “We weren't popular. We weren't good at lacrosse,” he counted on, his voice growing quieter, “ We weren't important. We were no one,” he whispered, “Maybe I should just be no one again. No one at all...”

Lydia couldn't see Stiles's face, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his entire body shook with fear. She saw him take one deep breath and step forward, towards the pool of gasoline beneath his best friend's feet. Lydia wanted desperately to grab him and pull him back, to keep him away from danger, but her feet seemed to be glued to the concrete below her. All she could do was watch as Stiles took step after step, slowly inching forward as he spoke softly and quietly, trying desperately to break through to the werewolf. 

“Scott, just listen to me, okay?” he began, “You're not no one. Okay? You're someone. You're...” he broke off, sniffling as he took another small step forward. Scott was looking at him with eyes so broken, face so shattered by pain and guilt that wasn't his to bear. It killed Lydia to see him like that. She didn't even want to imagine what Stiles and Allison must have felt like. “Scott, you're my best friend. Okay?” Lydia couldn't see it, but a tear escaped Stiles's eye at that moment. “And I need you”, she could hear his voice crack, a sob break through the attempt of calmness. “Scott, you're my brother, all right? So... So if you're gonna do this, then...”

Lydia's whole world seemed to freeze and crumble before her eyes as she watched Stiles slowly set foot into the pool of gasoline below Scott. In just a few short seconds, he was standing in that deathtrap, shaking and breathing deeply as he maintained eye contact with the werewolf. Scott clutched the flare tightly, but his focus was on the human standing before him. His brown eyes were so pained, and yet so confused at what Stiles was doing. He shook and shivered in fear, but he visibly calmed down when Stiles finally set his hand over his own, gripping the flare. “I think you're just gonna have to take me with you, then...”

And then everything seemed to happen in a millisecond. Stiles swiftly, and yet gently pulled the flare out of Scott's hand, tossing it aside. He kept his eyes on the boy before him, so powerful and great, and yet so small and vulnerable. Suddenly, the shaking, sobbing werewolf before him became that little boy that Stiles had met all the way back in kindergarten. He supposed Scott had actually always been that, just a little boy beneath all the muscle and might he had accumulated. He looked so afraid, so vulnerable as he cried before him, Stiles just wanted to break down and cry right there with him. He wanted to pull him in a hug and not let go until Scott finally started believing that he never really was nobody. That he had always been somebody. He had always been the most important person in Stiles's life, his best friend, his brother, part of himself. It wasn't much compared to what he was now, but he was definitely somebody to someone. He was never nobody, and Stiles felt awful for not making that point clear enough. He hated himself for letting Scott think that something that he was to blame for everything that had happened in the past year, when it was actually Stiles's fault. Scott was never in the wrong for anything, and he felt like he was because he couldn't save everyone. And Stiles hated himself for letting him ever believe that.

But before he could wrap his arms around his crying best friend, before he could do his best to shield and protect him from whatever evil had made him try and do what he just attempted to, a scream broke through the air. In a heartbeat, just as Lydia's shattering “NO!” had reached Stiles's ears, he felt something slam into him, sending both him and Scott tumbling to the ground. A second later, when he came to his senses, Stiles saw Scott laying just a few inches away from him, and he felt a weight on his back. Craning his neck, he saw Lydia laying half over him, staring at the tall wall of fire that had erupted in the spot he and Scott stood just a few seconds ago.

Lydia had reacted on instinct when she saw that flare rolling. She didn't think for a second as she threw herself at Stiles and sent both him and Scott tumbling to the ground. She couldn't stand the thought of anything happening to Scott, and even more so, to Stiles. She had to do something to help them, so she did the first thing that came to her and she tackled them both. Looking back at the fire behind them, she could've sworn she had saw a scarred and deformed face break through the flame, a scream echo through the night as it disappeared just as fast as it had appeared.

Realizing that she was laying halfway over Stiles, she swiftly pulled herself up onto her feet, and the tall boy followed soon after. She could see Allison helping Scott up in the corner of her eye, but she had her attention glued onto Stiles, looking him over for any sign of injury. His shirt and flannel were a little ripped at the sleeves, and so were his pants, but other than those few cuts and bruises, he seemed okay. Physically, at least. She knew in the back of her mind that being tackled the way he was wouldn't leave him unscratched, and that it was far better than winding up in flames, but she still felt horrible at the thought of hurting him.

But before she could say anything, Scott groaned. Stiles spun around immediately, taking the werewolf from Allison's arms and leading him away to clean him up. Lydia stared after them, a little hurt that Stiles had simply walked away from her like that, but she understood that he must have been terrified and worried about his best friend, so she kept her mouth shut. Besides, she can check on him later, Scott needs him now more than she does. She has no right to stand between them, ever, and especially not now.

“You okay?” a trembling Allison asked Lydia, stepping closer to her.

Lydia merely nodded, “I'll be fine, don't worry about me. What about you?” she knew her friend must have been feeling awful after what just happened, but she wasn't exactly sure how to comfort her right now. The experience was quite traumatic, and something Lydia had never even wished to experience, and she didn't know how to help Allison, no matter how much she wanted to.

“Let's just go pack,” Allison replied finally, walking towards the cursed motel entrance, “I'm sleeping on the bus, there's no way I'm staying in this place longer than needed.” And truth be told, Lydia couldn't agree more.

* * *

Just a few hours later, Lydia found herself sitting beside Allison on the bus. Her friend had long since fallen asleep, leaving her silent tears to dry on their own. Lydia pulled her discarded jacket over Allison, trying to provide comfort in any way possible. She didn't want to wake her, no matter how sleepless her night had been.

In the row beside her, the two boys sat. Scott had sat alone in the seat diagonally and in front of Lydia and Allison, sound asleep. Stiles had helped him clean up while the girls packed their bags, now resting below their seats. Scott still faintly smelled of gasoline, but it wasn't as strong anymore. The werewolf had collapsed in his seat the moment they entered the bus, and he was snoring just seconds later. No one dared wake him, all of them knowing he had been through too much that night, and that he was too exhausted and needed his rest to recover from the night's events.

Behind him, Stiles was sprawled on the bus seat, probably awake, if the faint sound of fingers tapping on the backrest were anything to go by. He hadn't said anything since he took Scott away to clean him up. In fact, other than Lydia suggesting they spend the night on the bus, no one had said anything. But Stiles had been particularly quiet. Had it not been for his constant drumming, Lydia might have even forgotten he was there.

Only she wouldn't. Out of everything that had happened that night, in the aftermath, she was most worried about Stiles. Her concern for him simply couldn't seem to leave her head. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like to watch his best friend in such a state. She never wanted to see Allison like that, never ever. She couldn't even begin to comprehend what Stiles was going through at the moment, even though she wanted to understand, so she could help him. 

She wasn't sure where all that protectiveness over Stiles had come from, but it was there, in plain sight. She couldn't help but ponder her care for him. She felt like a completely different person with him. Especially now that Jackson was gone. Stiles helped her show her real colors, even if mostly just among their group of four. He showed her that who she is isn't something to hide, but pride in. She felt comfortable around him, safe, and just like herself. She could be herself when she was around him. In many ways, he set her free. Their friendship is something she cherished over almost everything. She really cared about Stiles, more than most people in her life.

So seeing him the way he was that night crushed her. The image of his tear-stained face, the broken look in his eyes, the crack in his voice, and shiver in his shoulders as he talked to Scott was seared in her head. That image was all she could see. And the fear she felt when he stepped into that puddle of gasoline hadn't yet been fully shaken off. She remembered her world freezing, and suddenly, all she could feel was the fear that Stiles would really go up in flames, all she could see where the two boys crying as they clutched that flare. She hated it. She absolutely hated it. She wanted that gone, and her two cheery friends back. The pain on their faces wasn't supposed to be there.

She wanted to talk to Stiles. She desperately wanted to make sure he was okay, unharmed, but she knew he wasn't. He had a few cuts and bruises from when she tackled him, and she hated the fact that she was responsible for those, but really, she was far more grateful with him alive with a few cuts than having gone up in flames. But she knew he wasn't okay in his head. She knew just getting through that situation wouldn't leave him unscarred, and carefree just a few hours after it had happened. She knew he had been pondering everything that had happened, overthinking every word said. She knew he was still suffering from seeing Scott like that, in silence. She wanted to help, but she didn't know what to say.

Lydia didn't know when she had dozed off, her head lost in her wandering thoughts, but when she woke up, it was still dark. She wasn't really sleeping, it was more like she had passed out shortly. She hadn't rested at all, it was just like there was a gap in her memory, just a solid time of darkness and nothing else. Sleep, but not actually sleep. She had twisted her neck a little to get a better view of her surroundings. Allison and Scott were still snoring soundly, but the seat across the isle of her was empty, and Lydia found herself standing up before she even thought about it. As she shot up, a thin, dark grey jacket slid off her. She hadn't even noticed it before, but when it fell off her, Lydia immediately knew whose it was, even before the distinct scent of pine and old books hit her. It was Stiles's favorite jacket. He must have thrown it over her before going to wherever the hell he was. Her lips twitched upwards, grateful at the gesture, since Lydia had covered Allison with her jacket.

She didn't think at all really as she pulled the jacket on and climbed off the bus. It was far too big on her, reaching down to her mid-tighs, the sleeves falling over her fingers, but she didn't mind. It smelled of Stiles, and she felt like he was right there with her, holding her in a big hug. It was warm and comforting, just as Stiles always was.

And Lydia was truthfully grateful for the extra layer. Even if it was nearing summer, the night had been cold, with a slight breeze rippling through the air. The moon hadn't really been all too visible that evening, shielded over by grey clouds, but it did cast a very thin, faint glow over the empty parking lot. Lydia did her best to keep her eyes away from the pool of gasoline still laying just a few yards from her, as she pulled the jacket tighter around herself and glanced around. She scanned the area, searching for the messy, spiky mop of black hair somewhere around her.

It didn't take her long to find him. Beside the motel was a small patch of woods, separated from the death-building by a small stone wall. And that's where she found him. His back was turned to her, but she didn't need to see his face to know he was sobbing quietly. His feet were on the wall in front of him, legs bent at the knees, where his arms rested, folded. His face was buried in his forearms, and she could faintly make out the small trembling in his shoulders as he sobbed. Her heart shattered at the sight.

Swallowing her own pain at seeing him like that, Lydia quietly walked over to him, sitting right beside him on the wall. He didn't seem to hear her or notice she was there. Lydia blinked away the tears slowly pooling in her eyes and tried to draw his attention. She slowly, gently put her hand on his shoulder, making him jump slightly. He looked at her over his shoulder, a slightly startled expression on his face. He turned away quickly, wiping his eyes quickly and not so subtly, but Lydia had already seen his face. His eyes were broken, puffy, red and bloodshot. There were dried tear-stains on his cheeks, and a small quiver on his lips. She heard him try and swallow his sob, choking on it a little as he tried to regain himself.

“What're you doing here?” he asked, quietly as he spun around, letting his feet drop to the ground. He looked a little more recollected, but still utterly broken and hurt. It hurt Lydia to see him like that.

“I, uh... I saw you weren't on the bus, so I came to look for you,” Lydia confessed, a small, shy smile spreading across her lips.

Stiles let out a weak, humorless chuckle, “Right. I wasn't crying,” he tried to convince her, though it literally had no conviction at all. He was probably just trying to make himself feel better by denial, but Lydia had a different thought. She remembered the one time she was crying alone, and someone had told her something that, for her, had begun something truly beautiful. The one simple sentence that set her free.

“You know, someone once told me I shouldn't care about people seeing me cry,” she reminisced. Her gaze traveled up to him, seeing a bit of confusion in his eyes, but mostly a memory. He knew where she was going with that. “He said I looked beautiful when I cry,” she continued softly, smiling at him slightly, “I'd say that applies to him too.”

“Yeah?” his lips twitched upwards a little.

“Definitely,” Lydia replied, a small chuckle escaping her lips, “Though I have to say, personally, I prefer his smile.”

Stiles let out a weak laugh, looking down at the ground. When he looked back at her, he had a small grin on his face, weak and dry, but still genuine, and beautiful. “Happy now?” he teased.

“I guess it will have to do,” Lydia rammed her shoulder into him. Both their gazes dropped down at the ground, and they sat in silence for a long while.

“You know, you had me really scared there,” Lydia confessed after some time, her voice coming out a little shaky. Stiles, who was leaning his elbows on his knees, looked up at her, confusion and pain written all over his face. Lydia inhaled deeply, preparing herself to explain. To confess.

“When I saw Scott standing there, I felt, like this little knot in my throat,” she said, “And I was terrified of what might happen as it was, but when I... When I saw you step into that puddle... When I saw you take that torch, I felt like I was choking...” she let out a sob, “And the only time that happens... The only time that happens is when someone... When someone is about to die. And I thought – I thought... Death, it's all around me, and when I thought you might.... I couldn't take it! And then I felt it grow and I saw that torch rolling and I just... I couldn't lose you... I couldn't...”

“Hey, hey, shhh, it's okay. We're okay, we're all okay... It's over...” Stiles pulled her into a hug, rubbing circles into her back and whispering soothing things into her ear. Lydia sobbed into his shirt, staining it, but he didn't care. It hurt seeing her so fragile, so scared, so _hurt_. He wanted to make her pain go away, but he didn't know how.

“You know, Lydia...” he trailed off, chuckling dryly to himself, “You saved me tonight.” The redhead looked up at him with confused and hopeful eyes, making Stiles smile a little at her, “You saved me. And you saved Scott. And you saved Boyd and Isaac and Ethan. And yes, it has been a sticky night, but... We're okay. We're all okay. Thanks to you. _You_ saved us.”

Lydia smiled at him weakly, trying to pour her gratefulness into it. She knew it wasn't true, it was him who had saved them all that night, but she didn't have the strength to do anything at the moment, just bury herself into Stiles's side and his warm embrace. She felt him resting his cheek on the crown of her head, and she closed her eyes contently. She felt good, sitting there with him like that. Safe. Happy.

But then that perfect moment took a sour turn.

Lydia felt something wet on her head, and she noticed the ever-so-slight tremble in Stiles's chest. Tears, and mute sobs. Stiles was crying again. 

Lydia gently untangled herself from him, looking up with scrunched eyebrows. Stiles was looking down at his lap, eyes shut tightly, but that didn't prevent the tears from slipping. He was avoiding her gaze, but Lydia was having none of it. She cupped his cheeks gently and turned him so he was facing her. She ran her thumbs over his cheeks, wiping his tears, as she whispered, “Stiles? Stiles, what's wrong? Come on, Stiles, don't cry... Talk to me... Please?”

Stiles slowly pried her hands off, and buried his face in his hands, running them up and down furiously. He took in a few shaky breaths, trying to calm himself. Lydia gave him some space, knowing he would open up to her, he just needed to recollect himself.

“He said we were nothing...” Stiles managed finally, whispering so quietly that, had it not been for the shakiness of his voice, Lydia wouldn't've even caught it. She stared at him, head still buried in his hands, waiting for him to explain. “He really said we were nothing... That's what he thought? I mean, somewhere behind whatever spell he was under, that still had to be Scott, right? That couldn't have just come out of nowhere, he had to have meant it somewhere in his mind, right? Did he really think we were nothing?” He paused for a second, glancing up at Lydia. He looked so fragile, so vulnerable, so small. His face was so pained, so broken, Lydia wanted to shield him from everything and anything that might be out to hurt him.

“I mean,” Stiles continued, “It's always been just the two of us. Since the sandbox back in kindergarten, when I accidentally destroyed his sandcastle. It's been just the two of us through first grade, through preschool, through middle school, and then through high school. It's been just the two of us all our lives. And we've always been there for each other. Always. We had each other's backs. We were there together through anything. I was there when his dad left, he was there when my mom died. When he broke his arm, I did his homework for him, and when I sprained my ankle, he practically carried me around. We've been there through everything. It was never _nothing. We_ were never _nothing_. To me, at least.

And I get that it's different now. It's not the same. It's not just us anymore.” He quickly wiped at his eyes, chasing away the stray tears. “Ever since he got bitten, it wasn't just us anymore. Derek was there, Allison was there, you were there, Jackson was there, Isaac was there, Boyd and Erica were there, now Cora too. And that's fine. Things change, I get that. And I get that he has more now. He's popular, he's powerful, strong, fast. He's good at lacrosse. He's _better_. And I'm happy for him. I'm glad that he's no longer at the bottom of the food chain. I'm glad he has more now.

“But just because now's better doesn't mean then didn't exist. Just because he has more now doesn't mean he had nothing then, right?” he looked to her, searching for approval, for agreement, for anything to make him feel a little better. Lydia wasn't really sure what to do, she just stared at him. She didn't really get a chance to do much, though, as he quickly continued, words pouring out like a waterfall. “I mean, just because he has more people around him now doesn't mean he had no one then? I was always there. His mom was there. And yes, it was just us, but it's not _nothing_.

“And I mean, I know I'm not much. I know I'm not like him. I'm not as strong as him, I'm not as fast as him, or as sharp as him. I'm not as good at lacrosse as he is, or as popular or whatever. I'm just tagging along with him, wherever he goes. _Scott McCall's useless best friend._ I know I'm not much, but I was always still there. Through everything. All our lives. 

“And maybe he's right. Maybe he really had _nothing_ , if all he had was me. I mean, I'm not special in any way. I can't help when he needs me to. I can't do the things that he can. I'm _nothing_ compared to him. Compared to anyone. Maybe he really was right. I'm just glad he's something now.”

He was crying silently by the time the flood of his words was over. He seemed barely conscious of what he was saying. For a second, Lydia was scared the same thing that happened to the werewolves was happening to Stiles right before her, but she just knew it wasn't. First, she didn't feel that knot in her throat. Not in the same way anyway. The knot was from the pain of watching him break like that. And second, when they found Scott in that puddle, his eyes looked dead, like he wasn't really in that moment fully. Stiles was completely there. What he was saying was 100% him. And that scared Lydia even more.

Once again, she cupped his cheeks and forced him to look at her, pouring all the sincerity behind her words into her eyes and face. “Stiles, you listen to me now, and you listen to me well. You're not _nothing_. Okay? You never were nothing. And I know I only realized that recently, and I am so, so sorry it took me so long. I didn't see everything there was to you before, but I see it now. Because, Stiles, you're not nothing. You're amazing. You're crazy smart. You could solve any case presented to you. You're quick on the spot, you can stall when necessary, you have a way with words. And yes, you're not as strong or as fast or as sharp as Scott, but that doesn't make you worth less than him. Because Stiles, you make up for that by just being you. You make up for that by solving things, by figuring mysteries out. Without you, who knows what would've been with Scott. You're a hero, Stiles. Don't you ever forget that.”

“But I'm not. I'm not a hero. Because you know what would've been with Scott without me?” Stiles challenged, his lower lip trembling, “Without me, _Scott would've never gotten bit_. I dragged him out that night he got bit by Peter. I dragged him out into the forest, in the dead of the night, to go look for a dead body with me. And my dad found me, and I left Scott alone, so he wouldn't get in trouble, and the next morning, I find out he got bitten by a werewolf. It's my fault. If I had just sat still, Scott would've led a normal life. So many people would've lead normal lives. Scott, Allison, you, Jackson, Isaac, Boyd, Erica. None of them would've turned into werewolves. And so many people would be alive right now. So many people could've been saved if I had just sat still that night. It's my fault! It's all my fault! So no, I'm no hero, Lydia. I never was.”

To be completely honest, Lydia was a little surprised. She didn't know the full story of how Scott had turned. She knew Peter bit him one night in the forest, and that's that. But what Stiles shared with her right then didn't change what she thought of him. It would've just happened to someone else. It wasn't his fault. None of it. And no one blamed him, for anything that happened.

“You're wrong, Stiles. You couldn't be more wrong,” Lydia smiled faintly, trying to reassure him, to make him believe in what she was saying, because she knew she believed it, “You are a hero, Stiles. No one blames you for what happened that night. No one. It wasn't your fault. And yes, Stiles, you are a hero. I know you are. That's what I see in you. And you proved it so many times. Just tonight, you proved it multiple times.”

At Stiles's confused expression, Lydia sighed and began explaining, because he clearly didn't see it, “Stiles, you saved them. Not me. You. You saved Ethan. You wrestled that handsaw from him. Then you saved Boyd. You knew you were in danger by trying to stop him from doing that. You knew the dangers of a werewolf's temper, and you still rushed in and tried to pry a safe probably twice your own weight off him. And then you got those flares, and you saved him. And then you brought Isaac out of whatever trance he was in. And then, Stiles... Then you stood in a puddle of gasoline, holding a flaming flare, talking your best friend in the whole world out of setting himself on fire. 

“Stiles, you saved them all. You showed just how good and brave and selfless you are. You were ready to die with Scott. Stiles, _you're a hero_. You saved them all tonight. I just ran around behind you, listening to some crazy voices in my head. And this isn't the first time, Stiles. You saved me from Peter at the Winter Formal.”

“I left you bleeding on the lacrosse field,” Stiles countered, guilt tensing his shoulders.

“You did what you had to,” Lydia challenged, “If you hadn't, Peter would've slashed my throat open. And besides that, how many times have you, the human, non-supernatural Stiles, put yourself in danger trying to save your supernatural and non-supernatural friends? I don't even know. But Stiles, you saved everyone so many times, in so many ways. Stiles, you saved me twice! You opened my eyes. You freed me. You showed me that it was okay to be me, to show that I wasn't just a shallow, dumb popular girl. You allowed me to come out and be comfortable and proud of who I was. Stiles, you're a hero. You were the hero tonight. Stiles, you're _my_ hero. You saved me. And I can't thank you enough for that.”

She flashed him a small, sincere smile, unlike any she had ever shown anyone. It crept onto her face on its own, and Lydia didn't mind. If it happened with someone else, or a few weeks ago, Lydia would've scolded herself for it, because it made her feel vulnerable, exposed. But not with Stiles. With Stiles, she could always be herself. She could be vulnerable around him. She could be herself. He freed her. He saved her.

_Stiles saved her._

It took Stiles a moment to take in her words. Somehow, she knew she was sincere. There was just something about her voice, the tone she spoke in, the way she spoke, the way her eyes glistened in the faint moonlight, and that tiny, tiny, so beautifully, truly Lydia, that told him she meant everything she said. He may not have believed it, but it made him feel so much better to know that she meant it. And that smile she had on at the end, that smile he somehow knew she had never really shown anyone before, that it was so truly her, it made Stiles's grim, painful day just that bit better. Lydia made everything better. And in that moment, even though he didn't think it was possible, Stiles loved Lydia even more than before.

He let out a small breath he didn't realize he was holding and felt a tiny, tiny smile of his own creeping upon his face. It was just as sincere as Lydia's, though he was professing his gratitude and admiration of her. He hoped it did justice to what he felt for her at the moment, but he knew that nothing could really do that. Nothing could describe how much he felt for Lydia at the moment, how grateful he was that she had come to him that night, and that she really saw him as a hero, even when he definitely wasn't one.

Stiles found his arms pulling Lydia into a tight, tight hug before his brain even gave the command. He poured everything he felt for her into it, holding her tight to himself, as if he might melt if she pulled away. He felt the warmth radiating off her. He felt so much better with her by his side like that. So. Much. Better. 

And he did indeed feel as if he might melt away when Lydia pulled away. She was holding him to herself just as much as he was doing that to her. He was pretty sure that they had held each other like that for minutes, but Stiles felt as if it was just a heartbeat, not anywhere long enough. But Lydia didn't pull away completely. She kept her arms locked around his waist, head leaning on his shoulder and legs pulled over his own. Stiles had his arm wrapping over Lydia's front and gripping the wrist of the arm around Lydia's back. He was leaning his cheek onto the crown of her head, and he was rocking them back and forward slowly and lightly, barely moving really. He noticed Lydia's eyes were closed, but he could tell she was still awake. Neither said anything really, they just sat there, enjoying each other's presence in the comforting silence around them, basking in the moonlight.

It was Lydia who finally broke it, after what felt like hours and seconds at the same time. “We should get back on the bus, you must be freezing,” she whispered, not opening her eyes, but snuggling closer to him. Truth be told, Stiles felt warm with just her being there with him, and he really didn't mind the breeze blowing around them.

“I'm fine,” he replied, equally quietly, “Let's just stay here for a while, yeah?”

Lydia sighed contently, head nuzzling against Stiles's shoulder, smiles forming on both their faces, “Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, that was that! I hope you liked it! Any feedback is always welcome and much appreciated! Thank you for giving this little one-shot a go, thanks for reading, thanks for stopping by! There will be more one-shots like this soon, in the series mentioned above. If there is anything you'd like to see in it, feel free to visit my [ Tumblr blog ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/astralda0602), where I take requests for stories and one-shots and whatever it is you had in mind. Once again, thanks for stopping by and giving this a go! Until next time, hopefully!


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